


U is for Undercover

by Janieshi



Series: Alphabet [21]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Crossdressing, Disney References, Female Friendship, Gen, Stealth Crossover, Undercover Missions, Women Being Awesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-07
Updated: 2019-01-13
Packaged: 2019-10-09 23:42:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17414792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Janieshi/pseuds/Janieshi
Summary: In which Edward Elric goes undercover at a beauty pageant, learns how to walk in heels, meets several contestants with suspiciously familiar names and backstories, and gains a new appreciation for the effort required to maintain certain standards of female beauty - oh, and helps catch the bad guy while he's at it.





	1. Chapter 1

_Undercover /ˌəndərˈkəvər / adjective - (of a person or their activities) working secretly within a community or organization, especially for the purposes of police investigation; engaged in securing confidential information under a false appearance._

* * *

 

Major Juliet O’Hara had expected _some_ resistance to her mad plan, of course, but the negotiation had quickly devolved into a shouting match of epic proportions.

“No way! Absolutely not! You can’t make me!” the boy yelled, fists clenched at his sides. His little brother was all but wringing his hands behind him, amused and anxious in turns.

“I assure you that I can; it’s called a direct order,” his superior officer replied coolly. “Would you rather face court martial for insubordination, Fullmetal? Refusal to follow a direct order will get you a dishonorable discharge _at best_ \- assuming they don’t decide to make an example out of you and toss you in prison. Either way, you could say goodbye to all those military resources you’ve had unlimited access to,” he added, handsome features twisting in a sneer.

Juliet knew Roy wouldn’t _really_ carry out his threat, but judging by how quickly the color drained from his face, Edward certainly believed it.

“I’ll go above your head, old man!” he cried, voice wavering just the slightest bit.

“You can try,” Colonel Mustang retorted. “But I happen to know the General quite well. He’ll be far too amused by the whole idea to have any sympathy for you, bean sprout.”

“DON’T CALL ME A TINY INSIGNIFICANT SPECK OF DUST TOO SMALL TO BE SEEN WITH THE NAKED EYE!” Edward screamed, his face glowing scarlet with the force of his rage.

“I did no such thing,” Mustang said, primly.

It was at this point that Juliet realized Roy was taunting Edward on purpose. The little beast was actually fighting back a smile, and his men were exchanging rolled eyes and stifled snorts of amusement behind Ed’s back.

“Oh for heaven’s sake,” O’Hara muttered. Time to interject. “Look, Edward. I know I’m putting you on the spot with this, and I understand that you’re not comfortable with the mission parameters, but _please_. Will you at least hear me out?” she asked.

The boy eyed her warily. Roy leaned back in his chair and smirked. That ass—he’d been _waiting_ for her to interrupt! Good cop/bad cop, was it? Fine, then.

O’Hara put on the sweetest, most sincere, doe-eyed-altruist expression she could muster up and fired her opening volley.

“Maybe you think these beauty pageant contestants are a bunch of silly, empty-headed fools who don’t deserve military protection when they could simply quit the pageant,” she began, shaking her head slowly as if deeply disappointed by such an assumption.

“I didn’t say that…” the kid started to protest.

“But these are hard-working women and girls,” she interrupted earnestly. “And most of them wouldn’t be able to attend University at all without the aid of this scholarship program. If you agree to this undercover operation, you’d be helping us to save dozens of innocent lives – maybe hundreds!”

“Hundreds?” Edward echoed, looking stricken.

 _Easy now_ , O’Hara reminded herself. _I mustn’t lay it on too thick._

“Each of these girls will have family members and friends present for the duration of the pageant activities,” she explained. “People who love and support them, who want to see them achieve their goals. And some of whom are relying on this prize money to fund those goals.”

Ed had gone very still. Major O’Hara sensed impending victory.

“And then we have to consider the various tradesmen whose livelihoods are being threatened: make-up artists and hairdressers and dressmakers and seamstresses. The pageant employs a few dozen people in addition to whomever the contestants wish to employ privately as part of their entourage,” she went on, pressing her advantage. Edward was looking guiltier with each word. She nearly had him. “Then there are talent coaches and tutors – musicians and dancers and singers, and ALL of them innocent bystanders who haven’t done anything to deserve being blown to smithereens by some nut job who doesn’t like the guy footing the bill!” she cried.

“But –” Ed said in a small voice.

“Forget about military duty and-and direct orders and court martials, for just a moment,” O’Hara said, with a disdainful little gesture in her former foster brother’s direction. Turning the full force of her beseeching baby blues on the kid, she went straight for the jugular. “Won’t you at least consider it, Edward? Not for me, and not for Roy or the military. But for the sake of all of those innocent civilians?”

“Damn, she’s good,” one of Mustang’s men whispered from behind her.

“You should see the woman who trained her,” Hawkeye murmured back.

“GAH!” the kid said, covering his ears as if to stop the flow of persuasion from getting into his brain. “Okay FINE! I’ll help! But you have to promise me that Colonel Bastard won’t be involved,” he demanded, whirling on her. “I don’t want to look at his stupid smirking face another second!”

“Deal,” she said easily. Too easily. Ed glared at her, suspicious, and opened his mouth to protest. “What about Lieutenant Hawkeye,” O’Hara said quickly, heading him off. “Would you have any objections if I were to ask for _her_ help with a few things?”  

It would definitely be beneficial to have a standby handler who was already familiar with the asset, O’Hara thought. Hawkeye had always had that calm, soothing sort of aura about her, and both Elric brothers appeared to trust her already.

“No,” Edward said sullenly. “Hawkeye’s all right. But none of these other jerks!”

The rest of Mustang’s men cried out in faux indignation, ruffling the kid’s hair and protesting at the favoritism shown to their Lieutenant. O’Hara rolled her eyes. Kid had a lot to learn, clearly, about exposing his weaknesses. She turned to the younger Elric brother, who had been talking quietly with Hawkeye.

“I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to stay behind, Alphonse,” O’Hara said gently. ”I’ve been forbidden from bringing in civilian consultants, which is how we got into this mess in the first place...and since you aren’t officially a member of the State Alchemist program or the military, I can’t risk the brass finding out you’ve been involved in any way.”

“And you’re too young to enlist and volunteer, so don’t even think it,” Mustang added darkly. Al’s face (helmet?) promptly fell.

“I understand,” he said, sorrowfully. “Does this mean I won’t be allowed to see my brother at all until the mission is over?”

“No, no; of course not,” O’Hara hastened to assure him. “You just can’t be there behind the scenes with the other contestants during the various events of the pageant.”

“You’re too recognizable,” Mustang put in. “If someone saw you in the audience or hanging around back stage or wherever, they’d know Fullmetal was involved somehow, and his cover would be blown before he even got started.”

“Right,” O’Hara agreed. “It’ll have to be after hours. We’ll sneak you in to the hotel or something, and make sure you’re never seen together publically. All right?”

“Okay,” Al agreed in a small, sad voice.

“Don’t worry, kid! You can hang out with us in the meantime, huh?” Havoc offered, patting Al’s shoulder. “I’ll teach you to play poker, and you can try and beat this guy at chess,” he said, pointing to Breda.

“Ah, sure. Thank you, Second Lieutenant,” Al said softly. His older brother, who had been staring into space with a sort of vacantly horrified expression, suddenly grabbed Al’s hands.

“Al, I need you to promise me something,” he said in a deadly serious voice.

“Of course, brother, anything!” Al cried, instantly distressed. “What is it?”

“Granny and Winry can never find out about any of this!” he cried. “Please, Al, if you love me!”

“I promise, brother!” Al swore. They embraced, thumping each other’s backs and tearfully swearing to take each other’s shameful secrets to the grave.

O’Hara choked back a laugh. She wasn’t the only one.

Once the boys had calmed down a bit, she stepped forward and put a gentle hand on Ed’s shoulder.

“I’m not going to lie to you, Edward,” she said.  “It won’t be easy. You’ll have to get your hair done and apply makeup daily, and you’ll have to wear dresses and high heels without letting your discomfort show. You’ll only have a few days to learn to walk and talk and act like a young lady. I know it’s daunting, but I swear, I wouldn’t ask this of you if there were any other way.”

He sighed, and turned to face her. All traces of tears and laughter vanished as he squared his shoulders with an air of determination.

“I understand, ma’am. I won’t let you down!”

Precious little thing! Why on earth was Roy always complaining about him? Juliet just wanted to tuck him in her pocket and take him home with her.

* * *

By the end of the first day of ‘How to Act Like a Girl’ training, Juliet had revised her opinion somewhat.

To absolutely no one’s shock, Ed submitted to the indignities of waxing with extremely poor grace. He’d very nearly kicked the aesthetician in the face when she tore the first strip away, and in the end **everyone** was grateful that he had only the one organic leg to worry about. O’Hara very carefully did not mention anything about the bathing suit round of the competition or the likelihood of a bikini wax in the teen’s future. Oh gods, she hadn’t even considered the necessity for tucking…that was going to be an awkward conversation. Well, they’d cross that bridge when they came to it.

A good deep-conditioning mask and a judicious trim took care of Ed’s hair, and his unexpectedly flawless complexion made the makeup artist’s job fairly simple. There was some swearing and some tears when it came to the eyeliner and mascara, but Ed did apologize handsomely to the young woman, and even he admitted that he looked like a different person once she had finished.

With his superficial appearance dealt with, they then had to tackle the more practical concerns.

O’Hara had brought along a treasure trove of cast-off women’s clothing and shoes and accessories for Ed to practice with, some of them her own old things and some borrowed from her former foster sisters. It hadn’t been difficult to find a few different skirts and dresses that would fit Ed, and the shoes had only stymied him momentarily. He’d simply chosen a pair and alchemically altered one of them to fit his automail foot, much to O’Hara’s bemusement.

Walking in them was another matter.

“All right, let’s try something else,” O’Hara sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. The teen glowered at her and kicked off the hateful shoes with more violence than was strictly necessary.

“I don’t understand how you DO this!” he cried, frustrated.

In spite of his initial unwillingness, it was the fact that he was failing so badly that was really bothering Ed most at the moment. O’Hara tried to hide her smile, knowing that she could count on that very pride to keep the boy in line.

“If I might make a suggestion?” Hawkeye interjected gently.

Ed turned to her, immediately attentive.

“I think you’re going about this from the wrong angle,” Hawkeye said. She paused for a moment, considering. “You’re trying to walk how you think a girl should walk. I think you need to focus instead on having a better awareness of your own body, and how it moves,” she said finally.

“Huh?”

“You already know what I mean, although you utilize it in a very different way,” she explained with a faint smile. “When you walk into a room full of men who are older than you, who outrank you, how do you act?”

Ed blinked.

“Show us,” O’Hara suggested, catching on to Hawkeye’s intent. “Pretend you’re walking into some big important meeting or something, full of generals and colonels and such.”

Ed frowned but took a few tentative steps forward. Clearly still thinking hard, he straightened his shoulders, tossed his head defiantly, and stomped down the little catwalk, all arrogance and brash confidence; a little bantam rooster taking charge of the whole farm yard.

“There,” Hawkeye said. “You see? Consciously or not, you hold yourself a certain way to project a certain persona. You stand straighter; move with more confidence than perhaps you feel.”

Ed didn’t bother to deny it, although they all knew he would’ve done had Mustang been in the room with them.

“So using that same principle, you have to think of yourself as being...softer, I suppose. Lighter,” Hawkeye went on.

“Try to move like you’re walking on air,” O’Hara offered. “A sort of gliding. Or floating.”

“In those fucking torture devices?” Ed protested, waving a hand at the heels he’d abandoned. Hawkeye just smiled.

“Yes. Here.” She bent and quickly unlaced her boots, tucking her socks into them neatly as she stood. “May I?” she asked, gesturing towards O’Hara’s trunk.

“Of course,” Juliet replied. “Try the red stilettos.”

Hawkeye wasted no time slipping into the tall shoes. To Ed’s shock and...yes, to his admiration, too, she glided regally down the runway without even the slightest wobble.

“How are you doing that?” he demanded, pouting a little. Juliet bit her lip hard and wished for a camera.

“I’ve had a lot of practice,” Hawkeye said with another faint smile. “Try changing the way you distribute your weight with each step. Rather than walking heel to toe, as you normally would, put your weight on the ball of your foot initially, and then follow with the heel. Try it barefoot, first.”

He did, and found to his surprise that it made his steps all but silent. It also shifted his pelvis and hips slightly, and he suddenly found himself taking the same silent, stalking steps as Juliet and Hawkeye had.

“Huh,” he said again, surprised.

“Sway your hips just a little bit, with each step,” Juliet suggested. “Not like you’re a cheap whore, for heaven’s sake...there, yes! Just like that!”

“This is weird,” Ed mumbled, flushing.

“Don’t think about it _too_ hard,” O’Hara said. “No one is really expecting perfect elegance from a teenager, so it’s okay if you aren’t quite as graceful as Hawkeye, here. It just needs to look believable, and we can always use your automail as an excuse if you slip up or stumble.”

“What? I’m not going to use my automail as an _excuse_!” he snarled.

Juliet put her hands up defensively, bewildered by Ed’s sudden fierceness.

“Edward,” Hawkeye said gently. “Major O’Hara isn’t saying you can’t do it on your own. But learning to walk again with an artificial limb is very difficult. Even people who’ve never had to learn that the hard way can understand the concept. If something were to happen, they would be sympathetic, and unfortunately you would have to play on that sympathy so your final score wouldn’t suffer. Do you see?”

He mumbled something, avoiding her eyes.

“No one will think to ask who your mechanic is, and even if they did, you have no obligation to tell them,” she said. “No one will malign Ms. Rockbell’s craftsmanship, I promise you that.”

“Well, I still don’t like it,” he grumbled.

“I don’t either. It feels too much like cheating, doesn’t it?” she asked quietly. Edward nodded, feeling silly. “I know it’s hard, Edward,” Hawkeye said. “But you have a role to play, and if it came down to it, your automail limbs are just another tool for you to utilize. Another weapon in your arsenal, so to speak.”

He looked up at her finally, wry amusement on his face.

“You’re a scary lady, Hawkeye,” he said with a faint smile.

“And don’t you forget it,” she returned, winking.

With fresh determination, Ed retrieved the shoes and slipped them back on. His next pass was still a bit shaky, but there was a marked improvement all the same. At least, he looked a lot less like a duck with a stick up its ass trying to walk on stilts.

Juliet sent a silent prayer of thanks to whoever was listening for the impulse that had made her ask Riza to sit in on the training today.

“So! What are we doing for your talent?” she asked lightly as Ed sashayed past her again.

“Can we have him use alchemy?” Hawkeye asked. “I mean, obviously not the circle-less stuff; that’d be a dead giveaway of his true identity. But what if he drew the circle out and made something simple? Something a novice would know how to do?”

“That’s not a bad idea,” Juliet mused. “Edward, what do you think?”

Ed’s face had gone pale. _You made this all by yourself? You’re his sons all right!_

“I don’t want to do alchemy,” he croaked. The two women exchanged surprised glances. “I can…I can learn to juggle. Or, or throw knives at a target or something. But I’m **not** doing an alchemy demonstration for an audience,” he insisted, face darkening.

“Hmm…well, there’s already a knife thrower…” O’Hara mused.

“What, really?” Ed asked, surprised out of his defiant glower.

“Yeah, a Xingese immigrant,” she explained. “Something of an art form in certain provinces over there, or so I understand.”

“Any rule says there can’t be more than one of a certain talent?” Hawkeye asked. “Surely there’s more than one girl singing or dancing or what have you.”

“No, but if this other girl is really good at it, then he might not score high enough to get into the final rounds, and the pageant organizers were pretty clear that our undercover operative had to get though on her own merits,” O’Hara sighed.

“There’s a practice session at the end of the week, right?” Hawkeye said, frowning. “Maybe you can get some ideas from the other competitors.”

“Yeah, okay,” Ed replied, subdued.

“Don’t worry, Ed,” Juliet said gently. “We’ll figure something out. The more immediate issue is going to be gathering intel without drawing suspicion. You’ll need to talk to these girls; draw them out and get them to talk about themselves and hopefully give us more to go on than their official bios.”

Ed frowned and glanced over at Hawkeye again. He’d seen _her_ do it once or twice before - slip into a different persona like putting on a coat. It couldn’t have been easy for her, he knew. Someone as quiet and reserved as she normally was obviously wouldn’t like drawing attention to herself. But she was really very good at it when she wanted to be.

“How in the hell am I supposed to get a bunch of girls to tell all their secrets to a complete stranger?” he sighed, slightly exasperated. “Didn’t you say a lot of them already know each other from other competitions?”

“I have a few ideas about that, actually,” Juliet assured him. “But for now, let’s work on your runway walk some more, okay?”

For the next hour, the two women watched Edward stalking up and down the catwalk at Riza’s side, unwavering resolve all over his young face. He improved a bit more with each pass, and Juliet dared to hope that this whole insane idea of hers (well, and Roy’s -and Carlton’s, too, although he’d been joking when he’d suggested it) just might work after all.

And when Edward balked again, Juliet thought with a very Mustangian smirk, they’d simply have to discuss the bathing suit potion of the pageant in more detail. As incentive, of course.


	2. Chapter 2

_Undercover /ˌəndərˈkəvər / adjective - (of a person or their activities) working secretly within a community or organization, especially for the purposes of police investigation; engaged in securing confidential information under a false appearance._

* * *

The new girl seemed…well, new.

She stood alone, leaning too-casually against the only non-mirrored wall, watching Bianca rearrange some sheet music. On the other side of the practice room, Aurora was poised on her toes with that preternatural grace of hers, delicately picking out the steps of a ballet routine. Another girl nearby was practicing some sort of rhythmic gymnastics program, tossing glittery batons up in the air and catching them after a series of flips and somersaults. Isabelle, as usual, had her nose buried in her book – she was planning to recite from memory an absurdly long and complicated bit of poetry. Daniella was seated beside her, covered cage resting at her feet.

Personally Merida wasn’t sure how making mice scamper through an obstacle course counted as a talent, but if it meant that her own archery skills looked way cooler by comparison, she wasn’t going to argue.

But the new girl wore a frown as she sized up her competition. Not that the sizing up was unusual in itself; it’s why they had these practice sessions all together, after all.  But she seemed…concerned? Upset? No, just…uneasy, maybe. Merida wondered what her talent was. Perhaps she was a singer, too, and felt intimidated by the way Bianca was trilling out all those insanely high notes with such ease.

Bored, and in the mood to be friendly, Merida made her way over to the other girl.

“Hi, there. I’m Merida,” she said, sticking out a hand. “First pageant?”

The other girl startled slightly. She’d been _really_ focused.

“Uh, hi,” she said warily, shaking Merida’s hand with a firm, cool grip. Her voice was a bit low for a girl, and a little husky. “I’m, um, I’m Edie. Well, Edwina, really, but I really hate that name so everyone calls me Edie. And yeah, this is my first time,” she said, offering Merida a small, sheepish smile. “Is it that obvious?”

Merida grinned back at her.

“Nah, not really. Only I know a bunch of the other girls from the usual circuits, and I hadn’t seen you before. Are you a singer too, then?” she asked, nodding towards Bianca, who had just finished her number and was clearing her things away to make way for Marie at the piano.

“No. I, uh, I haven’t actually decided on a talent yet. And even if I could sing, I don’t think I’d want to go up against that girl,” Edie admitted, laughing a little. “She’s really good.”

“Bianca? Yeah, she’s pretty awesome,” Merida agreed. “Ella – er, Daniella, the blonde girl, there - is almost as good, but she gave up singing and decided to do this trained mice routine this year.”

“Trained _mice_?” Edie repeated, incredulous. Merida giggled.

“Yeah, I don’t get it either. But she has this whole obstacle course setup, and she dresses them in these tiny little hats. Well, the boy-mice, anyway. She puts little tail ribbons on the girl-mice, although I have no idea how she can tell the difference…it’s actually pretty cute, though, honestly. Plus it makes her stand out more for the judges.”

“Huh, makes sense,” Edie mused. “I guess that’s a good thing for me, that the definition for a talent is pretty open. I can’t carry a tune in a bucket, and I’m not any good at dancing either,” she shifted as she spoke, rapping her knuckles against her left leg, which made a dull metallic noise. Merida blinked, absorbing the fact that the other girl had an automail leg.

“I have GOT to introduce you to my Dad,” she said without thinking. Edie gave her an odd look. “Oh, sorry, I mean – he’s got a prosthetic leg too, only he refuses to get an automail and clumps around on this ugly wooden thing instead, and if I have to hear him complain about the splinters one more time–!”

Edie laughed, more naturally this time.

“I’ll give you my mechanic’s card,” she promised.

“Thanks!” Merida beamed at her. “So! Talent ideas…let’s see…Bianca’s one of the singers and Aurora’s a dancer, obviously, and Jazzie and that girl over there are the only two gymnasts that I know of. Oh no, wait, Wendy was going to do a tumbling routine this year, I think. And then we’ve got Isabelle with a poetry recitation, and Ella with her mice…Alice is doing a dramatic monologue, and Marie plays piano – you play any instruments?”

“Nope. I, uh, I actually took alchemy lessons as a kid, instead of music. My coach wants me to do some sort of alchemy demonstration, but I’m _really_ not very good at it,” Edie confessed, rubbing the back of her neck and shuffling her weight awkwardly. Merida caught a glimpse of metal between the girl’s glove and jacket sleeve, and realized with a start that her right arm was an automail as well. “I was thinking of doing some sort of target practice, but she said there’s already an archer,” Edie was saying. “And a Xingese knife-thrower, too?”

“Oh, that’s me! The archer, I mean, not the knife-thrower – that’s Magnolia. I’ll have to introduce you later; she’s really cool. She knows, like, a ton of different martial arts and stuff,” Merida gushed. “She said she’d show me a few moves, sometime.”

“Yeah? I’ve had a few lessons in, er, in self-defense,” Edie volunteered, a little shyly. “Maybe I could tag along when you meet up? We could probably give each other some useful tips, if we’ve trained in different disciplines.”

“Great idea – OH! I know!” Merida cried, bouncing on her toes a little. “You could do a sort of self-defense demo! For your talent, I mean! They’ve totally had stuff like that before; one girl even did this whole military themed routine  last year– army obstacle course, breaking down a weapon, the whole bit. She was looking to enlist.”

“Really? I wonder if they’d let me have a partner on stage…or I guess I could use a practice dummy to show off some basic moves,” Eddie mused. “Hey thanks, Merida, that’s the best idea I’ve heard all day.”

“Sure!” Merida chirped.

Eddie smiled and pushed away from the wall.

“I gotta go talk to my coach – she’ll be thrilled; she was starting to threaten me with dance lessons and I’m pretty sure that would not have ended well for either of us.”

“Ugh, is she related to my mother? Mum wasn’t thrilled when I said I wanted to do archery, either. She wanted something ‘more ladylike’ than that,” Merida said, making a little moue of distaste. “But Dad and my talent coach convinced her it’d be better to be different.”

“Nice! Hey, am I allowed to wish you good luck, since you’re my rival?” Edie asked.

“I don’t see why not; I could use all the help I can get,” Merida laughed. “Best of luck to you as well! Say, are you coming to the breakfast social-thing tomorrow? I could introduce you around to the girls I know.”

“That sounds great, thanks! I haven’t really talked to anyone else yet, so it’ll be good to put names to faces,” Edie replied, smiling. “See you tomorrow, then?”

“Bye!” Merida said brightly. She turned back toward the floor, where the ballet dancer and the dark-haired gymnast were making way for the next two girls in line to use the floor space.

‘Edie’s’ shoulders slumped a little as soon as Merida turned her back. This whole pretending to be a girl thing was exhausting.

* * *

 

Major O’Hara and another Investigations officer were ‘casually chatting’ just outside the dressing rooms. Juliet, playing the role of Edie’s coach, was dressed in a smart skirt and blouse rather than her uniform, and had her hair down loose around her shoulders. She nodded toward one of the open doors, indicating that ‘Edie’ should follow her. The other officer, a grim-faced older man, subtly took up position outside the door to make sure no one disturbed them.

“So, how’d your first public appearance go, Ed?” Juliet asked, once the door was securely shut. Ed shrugged, in full sullen-teenager mode, and toyed with the cuffs of his jacket.

“Alright, I guess. Talked to one of the girls, sorta started figuring out who’s who. Came up with an idea for my talent,” he added nonchalantly. Juliet’s ears pricked up.

“Oh?” was all she said, careful not to show too much interest lest Ed clam back up.

“Yeah, she – Merida, the redheaded one? Er, the one with curly red hair, not the one with the long, darker red hair. Anyway, Merida suggested some sort of martial arts demo. Like a self-defense showcase thing.”

“Ooh, that’s a great idea! We’ll talk to the organizers; make sure we get approval and all that. What about the other girls? Any new intel for us?”

“Not yet, but I should hopefully have a bit more after tomorrow,” he sighed, starting to run a hand through his hair.

“Stop that,” Juliet chided lightly, batting his hand away. “You’ll mess up all that work and end up spending another hour with the hairdresser. Tomorrow’s the Meet ‘n’ Greet brunch?”

“Yeah. Merida said she’d introduce me around. She seems to know a lot of the other girls; said they’d been in some of the same pageants over the past couple seasons.”

“Excellent! Good work, Ed. Why don’t you go on back to the hotel and get some rest? Al should be there by now; Falman promised to drop him off. I’ll head over to talk to the organizers about your talent, and then come by later with your dress options for the evening gown round.”

Ed groaned, dramatically.

“Unless you want me to pick for you?” Juliet said innocently. “I’m thinking lots of glitter, and flounces, maybe a really bright pink with a floral pattern…”

“Are you sure you and Mustang aren’t _actually_ related?” Ed muttered darkly. “Fine! God, I’ll try on your stupid dresses.”

“That’s the spirit!” Juliet said cheerfully.

“Harpy,” he replied under his breath. Juliet magnanimously ignored him.

“Casual clothes are fine for informal things like this practice session,” she said, nodding at his simple dark pants and hooded sweatshirt ensemble. “But you should wear one of the sundresses tomorrow. Get a bit more into character. Get some more practice walking around in heels, maybe.”

Ed sighed, but nodded.

“No pink, okay? Please?” he pleaded. Juliet smiled as she rose to leave.

“We’ll see what our wardrobe guys can come up with for you,” Juliet promised, smirking.

She knew he’d be so relieved that all of his evening gown options were in reds and blacks, he’d probably agree to one of the more feminine summer dresses for the brunch. He was remarkably easy to manipulate that way – the kid was damn lucky he had Roy looking out for him most of the time.

* * *

 

For the brunch, Juliet managed to bully Ed into a soft blue dress with matching kitten heels, though he blushed furiously when he first looked at himself in the mirror. Al only teased him a _little_ , telling him he was almost as pretty as their Winry, which left Ed spluttering.

He mumbled something about the girl’s legs looking better in short skirts, and then promptly turned an even darker shade of red when he realized what he’d just implied. (Juliet reconsidered keeping him when this was all over, and made a mental note to ask Hawkeye what the deal was with this ‘friend’ Winry.)

‘Coach’ Juliet carefully chatted with the other coaches, guardians, and parents in attendance, watching as an athletic little redhead with riotous curls and a mischievous grin dragged ‘Edie’ from group to group. None of the other adults had much to say about the bomb threats, unfortunately. One or two of them idly speculated that the whole thing was a hoax perpetrated by the organizer as a way to generate publicity, but Juliet’s partner had already investigated that angle. The man was a pompous blowhard, and occasionally a bit of a letch, but he hadn’t stooped to threatening his own pageant just yet. It was looking more and more likely that one of the contestants was the real target of these anonymous threats.

Back at the hotel room, Ed kicked off his shoes and collapsed onto the bed to rub at his sore feet.

“I’ve got some of the names matched to the faces now,” he said, sounding frustrated. “But I still don’t have any personal info that wasn’t already in their official pageant information. This isn’t working at all!”

“It’s only been two days, Ed,” Juliet said calmly, perching on the armchair opposite Al, who had been making sympathetic noises while Ed ranted. “And getting to know people takes a bit of time. You have names and faces now, and that’s the first step.”

“Yeah, but now what? I can’t just walk up to each girl and be all ‘Hey, you know anyone who might want to see you dead? Care to tell me all about that so that _I_ can go tell the cops all the details, even though you’ve already been interviewed and didn’t tell them a damn thing? By the way, that color looks great with your complexion! Can I borrow your lipstick?’”

Juliet didn’t bother to hide her laugh this time. Ed glowered at her, but he relaxed a little.

“Well, no, not quite like that,” she said, still giggling. “But I _do_ have an idea…”

 


	3. Chapter 3

_Undercover /ˌəndərˈkəvər / adjective - (of a person or their activities) working secretly within a community or organization, especially for the purposes of police investigation; engaged in securing confidential information under a false appearance._

 

* * *

Merida bounced on her toes a little, gleeful.

“She’ll be gone all night? You’re absolutely sure?” she asked.

“She’s never back until, like, three am,” Edie assured her. “We sort of have an unspoken arrangement. If I don’t tattle on her or get caught messing around while she’s off with her boyfriend, then I can do whatever I want while she’s gone. She even left me money for junk food. So? You in?”

“Party in your room tonight!” Merida agreed. “DON’T tell the little ones, though, okay?” she said, referring to Bianca and Marie, who were the two youngest contestants. “They’ll only get us caught. And Wendy’s such a prig she’d probably just tell on us. Oh, and I don’t think Alice’s cousin really lets her go off on her own, so she’ll be out, too…look, there’s Jazzie; you just leave the rest of this to me, okay?” she cried, and darted off.

Ed watched her go, a little amazed that everything seemed to be going exactly according to plan. On the other side of the room, Merida was talking animatedly to Jazz and another pretty brunette – Isabelle, he remembered. Jazz was smiling and nodding, and Isabelle was waving a third girl over, one of the blonde ones. Ed huffed a little, and rushed over to makeup to finish prepping for rehearsal.

The dress rehearsal seemed to go on for hours. Ed managed to trip and fall flat on his face while walking down the steps on the main stage, much to his chagrin. Two of his competitors had rushed over to help him up, fussing over him and the state of his dress.

“Don’t worry, sweetie, that’s why we _have_ dress rehearsals,” one of them was saying. “Here, hang on to my arm a second and step down?” Still a little stunned, Ed did as he was told. The second girl, a blonde, made a small clucking noise.

“Yup, the skirt is a bit too long for you,” she said. Ella, Ed recalled suddenly. Daniella. The one with the mouse act. “Have your own seamstress hem it – don’t use the ones the pageant provide,” she told him in an undertone. “They rush through and do a sloppy job, and then you end up tripping down the stairs because they didn’t bother to check the height of your heels. Actually, Edie honey, come with me once we’re done with this bit. My godmother is a whiz with a needle and thread; she’ll fix you right up.”

“Thanks, I will,” Ed said, blushing furiously. “And, um, thank you both for helping me up,” he added, turning slightly to include the first girl, the other redheaded contestant.

“No problem! See you later, huh?” the redhead replied, and winked. Ed blinked at her for a moment, before abruptly recalling the party.

“Oh! Yeah, come over any time after nine,” he whispered.

“We’ll definitely be there,” Ella said. “Now shh! Marie is looking this way,” she hissed. “Come on, let’s get your dress sorted out.”

Ed let Ella lead him over to her godmother, a cheerful older woman who did indeed have Edie’s dress fixed up in the blink of an eye. He chanced the steps again to test it out and managed to look almost as graceful as his peers this time.

They walked through the opening line up several more times without any other mishaps, and Ed made it back to his room just after eight, head spinning with all of odd little pageant tips and makeup tricks he’d picked up over the course of the afternoon. (Vaseline on your teeth, for heaven’s sake - what the hell was wrong with these people?)

Juliet browbeat him into eating a quick dinner before shoving him in the direction of the bathroom. Once he’d showered and changed into the outfit she insisted upon( _‘It’s cute, casual loungewear, just shut up and put it on!’_ ), they had just enough time left for her to apply a careful layer of ‘light’ makeup and do up his hair in a soft, messy bun.

“Okay, there’s ice cream in the freezer and some chips and pretzels in the cabinet,” she said, hastily gathering her things. “Just act casual, relax, try to mostly be yourself, (except, you know, more female) and you’ll be fine. Al and I will be right next door; you got this! Gotta go bye!” And then she was gone and Ed was free to panic.

“How in the hell am I supposed to make small talk with these girls?” he cried, despairing. “Right, okay, stay calm, Ed…what would Lieutenant Hawkeye do?”

 _“You just have to pretend you’re someone else,”_ she’d said to him once _. “Undercover work isn’t much different than acting. You’re playing a role. It doesn’t matter what these people think of you, or whether they like you or hate you – it’s not really **you** up there on stage with them. And you’ll never see them again anyway, so why worry what they think? You just put on the face you want them to see, and go with the flow.”_

He was startled out of his reverie by the knock at the door.

“Okay,” he whispered. “Go with the flow, right? Okay. I can do this. I can do this...”

* * *

Merida had only told five other girls about the chaperone-free gathering. Jasmine, who was one of the oldest current contestants, was the last to arrive. She was passing out glass bottles of hard cider with a slightly wicked grin before Edie even had the door closed behind her.

“There’s chips and stuff in the - oh, I don’t…I mean, I’m only 15,” Edie protested weakly, even as she accepted the bottle.

“So? There’s barely any alcohol in these things,” Jasmine retorted, rolling her eyes. “It’s not like you’re gonna get drunk just from tasting one,” she added.

“Fair point,” Edie said, wincing a little. She folded herself back into her spot on the tiny loveseat, holding the bottle awkwardly in her automail hand.

“Don’t tease her, Jazz!” Isabelle said, swatting at the older girl.

“Live a little, Edie! I promise no one here will take advantage of you,” Jasmine said, winking.

“Oh my god, Jasmine, you sound like a dirty old man,” Ella laughed. “Ignore her, sweetie, you don’t have to drink it if you don’t want to,” she said kindly. “I brought some root beer, if you’d rather.”

“Yeah, quit corrupting the minors, Jazz,” Ariel giggled from her spot on the floor, already halfway done with her own cider.

“How long have you been waiting to say that?” Isabelle asked her, amused.

“Since the day I turned sixteen, so…like six months now?” Ariel replied, beaming up at them.

“Well, I don’t mind being a _little_ corrupted,” Aurora volunteered, making grabby hands at the bottle Jazz held out to her. She was 15, too.

“Go easy,” Ella warned gently, as Aurora tapped her bottle against Edie’s with a bright smile and took a sip. Edie took a tentative sip of hers, too, as Aurora curled up beside her on the loveseat.

“Eh, not bad. Sweeter than I thought it’d be,” she said. “Just help me hide the bottles later so Juliet doesn’t have kittens, okay?” she added, turning to Jasmine.

“Consider it done,” Jasmine promised, smiling as she curled up beside Isabelle on the foot of one of the beds. “So hey, no Magnolia tonight?” The last was directed at Merida, who had been rifling through the snack options in the miniscule little kitchenette in the corner.

Merida heaved an exaggerated sigh, dropping into the last remaining armchair.

“She had a date with her fiancé,” she explained, opening the bag of chips in her hands.

“Oh, I didn’t know she was engaged!” Isabelle cried. “Is it that older guy who comes to all the practices with her?”

“Yep, that’s the one. I thought he was her brother or something until I saw them kissing after practice one day,” Merida giggled, passing the chips over to the girls on the bed.

“Glad I didn’t try and ask him out, then,” Jazz said. “I really dig the strong silent type thing he has going on, but I’m pretty sure Magnolia could kill me with her little finger. I am definitely not making a move on her man!”

The other girls giggled and nodded their agreement.

“Speaking of men, are you still seeing the same guy, Ariel?” Ella asked.

“Yeah,” Ariel said, blushing faintly. “He…he wants to get married, but Daddy still doesn’t approve. He wants me to wait until I’m over eighteen. Eric says he’ll wait, if we have to.”

“Oh, that’s so romantic!” Aurora sighed, starry-eyed.  

“I mean, I’d still like my father’s blessing,” Ariel admitted, biting her lip and looking down at her hands. “I’m only doing the pageant this year cuz he wanted me to. We’re hoping that he’ll change his mind, so we’re trying to respect his wishes, and show him we’re serious about marriage, and that we really love each other,” she explained.

“I’m sure he’ll come around, sweetie,” Isabelle soothed, slipping off the bed to wrap an arm around Ariel’s shoulders. “You’re his youngest, too, so of course he’s more protective of you. I’m sure he only wants what’s best for you.”

“So you two just have to make sure he sees that what’s best for you is Eric,” Aurora chimed in. “At least you only have to worry about your dad. Any boyfriend I manage to snag will have to impress my _three_ meddling aunts!”

“I still say my mother is worse than any number of maiden aunts,” Merida said darkly. Everyone giggled, having met the formidable Eleanor.

“Better than my stepmother,” Ella sighed. “Can you all just throw the competition so I can win the prize money and move out on my own, already? I’d offer to bribe you, but you’d still have to let me win to collect on that, since I have no money of my own. As Step-Mommy Dearest likes to remind me, like, every other day,” she said, rolling her eyes.

“No can do,” Jazz interjected. “If we’re throwing this thing for the sake of whoever has the biggest sob story, then it’s gotta go to Bianca,” she insisted.

“Ah, damn, that’s a good point,” Ella admitted.

“Why, what’s her story?” Edie asked, curious. Jazz, Ella and Isabelle exchanged glances. “Sorry, I don’t mean to pry,” Edie added quickly, chastised.

“No, it’s no secret, or anything,” Isabelle said. “It’s just a sad story. I mean, Alice is an orphan, but her cousin Dinah is totally devoted to her. And Aurora has her aunts, and Ella at least has her godmother…”

“Edie is an orphan, too,” Merida said quietly. Isabelle turned sorrowful eyes up at Edie, and Aurora stroked her arm, ignoring her sudden blush. Jazz swore softly.

“Well, as far as I know, anyway,” Edie shrugged, clearly embarrassed by the attention. “Dad walked out on us when we were really little, and we haven’t heard a peep out of him since, even after Mom died. So he’s dead to us figuratively if not literally. I have Al, though. My little brother,” she explained. “And we have people back home; family friends who treat us like their own, so it’s not like we’re completely alone in the world either. Merida’s told me about _her_ family already…how about you girls?” she asked, in a blatant attempt to change the subject.

“It’s just me and my dad,” Isabelle volunteered. “Mom died when I was just a baby.”

“Same here,” Jazz said.

“Me too,” Ariel said. “But then I also have six older sisters.”

“Both of my parents are gone, so I just have my stepmom and stepsisters. I guess they aren’t completely horrible ALL the time,” Ella said, grudgingly. “And I do have my godmother to look out for me.”

“I was raised by my three aunts,” Aurora said, her hand still on Ed’s arm. She squeezed gently. “I don’t know anything about my parents, really. My aunts don’t like to talk about them, so I gave up asking after a while.”

“Merida, sweetie, I think you and Marie have the most ‘normal’ family situations of all of us,” Jazz mused.

“And Magnolia, but her parents are still back in Xing,” Merida offered. “She and Shang moved here for his work, and I think they brought her grandma with them, sort of like a chaperone so that they can all live together and still be considered respectable, she says. So…are Marie and Edie the only other ones who have brothers?”

“I wish I had siblings,” Isabelle said, a little wistfullly.

“I wish you had an older brother, at least,” Jazz said. The others shot her confused looks. “What! She’s gorgeous; any brother of hers would have to be really hot, too! I’m just _saying_!” The girls dissolved into giggles again.

“You know, she does have a point,” Aurora said, gesturing with her nearly empty bottle and narrowly missing Edie’s face. “ _Marie’s_ older brothers are just as cute as she is!”

“Especially the red-headed one,” Isabelle agreed.

“You do have a thing for gingers, don’t you?” Ella teased her. “I think the brunet is better-looking, personally. Although they’re both a _bit_ too young for me…”

“Not for me!” Aurora crowed. “Although I wonder whether either one is as whiny as Marie. I mean, she’s a sweet girl most of the time, but I think she’s a bit spoiled at home, don’t you?”

“Aw, she’s the youngest. And the only girl,” Isabelle noted. “But I suppose you’re right; she does get a little whiny sometimes.”

“Merida, darling, your brothers are cute too, but they are way too young for any of us to even consider,” Jazz said, patting Merida’s arm in faux-comfort. Laughing, Merida shoved the older girl.

“Again, anyone wanting to date my brothers would have to contend with my mother, so feel free!” she laughed. “At least she’s all strict and bossy out of love, though, so I really shouldn’t complain…”

“Which brings us back to poor Bianca,” Jasmine said, opening a second cider. “Her mother – well, stepmother – is a real nasty piece of work.”

Aurora and Ariel, who didn’t know the story either, perked up.

“Worse than yours, Ella?” Ariel wanted to know.

“Oh honey, you have NO idea,” Ella replied darkly.

Edie sat back and observed, polite interest pasted on her face. No one noticed that she didn’t contribute any other personal information to their conversation.

* * *

 

When Juliet slipped back into the room sometime after one, (followed closely by Al), Ed handed over a small black notebook. As Juliet skimmed over his copious notes, Ed rubbed his eyes and yawned, leaning heavily into his little brother.

“I had NO idea girls could talk that much,” he mumbled. “I barely had to say anything!”

 **Agnes** , 16, with curly black hair and bright emerald-green eyes, was the gymnast whose routine Ed had been watching a few days previous. She kept mostly to herself, and was always in the company of a handful of intimidating older men, cousins or uncles depending upon who one asked. The few girls who had actually spoken to her said she seemed kindhearted and was generous with her advice. They all admired her gymnastic talents. Her unusual routine included elements of dance as well as colorful batons and ribbons that she threw and caught in between flips and handsprings.

 **Alice** , 15, was a quiet blue-eyed blonde orphan in the care of an older female relative who also acted as her coach. Dinah, herself a veteran of the pageant circuit, apparently hoped that some friendly competition would draw shy, reserved Alice out of her shell a bit.

 **Ariel** , 16, a bubbly blue-eyed redhead, was the youngest daughter of a very wealthy and well-known shipping magnate. A bright, curious girl with a lovely singing voice, she was the apple of her indulgent father’s eye. She had plans to marry a man her father disapproved of, though she had high hopes that she and her fiancé could talk him around eventually.

 **Aurora** , 15, all golden blonde and white and pink with striking violet-blue eyes, was estranged from her parents and had been raised by a trio of charming, eccentric, and elderly maiden aunts. The three women came to each event, chattering and arguing amiably amongst themselves while knitting a series of increasingly intricate sweaters and just generally exuding the sort of grandmotherly love that warmed even the coldest of hearts.

 **Bianca** , 14, the pale-skinned singer with short black hair and large brown eyes, might as well have been an orphan. Her mother had died when she was an infant, and her father had quickly remarried a much younger woman. He’d grown more and more distant towards his daughter, and instead focused all of his attention on the vain and demanding second wife. It hadn’t taken him long to spend what should have been Bianca’s college fund on jewelry and furs and other trifles for her stepmother. Eventually, the woman had started spreading rumors about Bianca all over her hometown, convincing people that she was a lazy, promiscuous little wretch who caused no end of trouble for her poor father. Desperate and miserable, Bianca had finally asked to be sent to stay with a distant cousin, to which the stepmother had agreed with smug satisfaction. So Bianca had ended up as the de facto housekeeper for this cousin, and had actually entered the pageant with his encouragement and financial backing. He and several of his friends, gruff, burly coal miners all, had traveled all the way from Youswell to support the young girl, having come to consider her as an adopted and much beloved little sister. She was hoping to use the scholarship money to enroll in a conservatory and develop her vocal talents enough to become a famous singer.

 **Daniella** , more commonly known as Ella, was 17, blonde and blue-eyed, orphaned, and in possession of a stepmother and two obnoxious stepsisters. All three were bitterly jealous of the girl’s success in the pageant circuit. Apparently the two older girls had made attempts of their own, but had neither the talent nor temperament to get very far. Ella came to the events mostly alone save for an older, genteelly impoverished woman who she referred to as her fairy godmother, a talented seamstress who actually designed Ella’s dresses herself. Ella already had a scholarship to Central University, but she planned to use the prize money to pay for room and board, so that she could move out from under her stepmother’s harsh thumb and live on her own.

 **Isabelle** , 18, a hazel-eyed brunette, was the only daughter of a slightly absent-minded artist. A country girl like ‘Edie,’ Isabelle was extremely smart and very well-read, and had big dreams of traveling and seeing the world and getting the hell out of her boring one-horse town. “Not that there’s anything really _wrong_ with it, but I want more than the provincial life!” she’d confided to Edie as they’d passed a carton of strawberry ice cream back and forth between them (while the others had been busy squabbling over the chocolate). She’d also mentioned an overly persistent suitor from whom she desperately wanted to escape. He’d proposed three times already, undeterred by Isabelle’s refusal and outright disgust.

 **Jasmine** (Jazz to friends), 19, with long black hair and a deep olive complexion, was the only child of an extremely wealthy oil baron, who was himself originally from Ochinstan. He was known to be a bit of an airhead, and it was rumored that the only reason controlling interest of his company (and a large chunk of his fortune) hadn’t yet been wrested from his grasp was due to his daughter’s savvy interference. As her father’s sole heir, Jazz made another likely target –she was the only thing standing between someone and a very hefty payday.

 **Magnolia** , 18, the knife-throwing Xingese immigrant with expressive dark eyes, had moved to Amestris with her fiancé and grandmother, leaving her parents back home. She had big dreams of a cosmopolitan education and subsequently a career that would help her support her ageing parents and their small struggling farm. Her fiancé was a quiet and reserved man, but he seemed genuinely supportive. Ed had broached the topic of martial arts with her at the social, and she had been eager to spar and trade tips and techniques.

 **Marie** , 13, a petite girl with white-blonde hair and wide blue eyes, was the youngest contestant. She and her two brothers had been raised by their mother and grandmother, their father having died only weeks before Marie was born. Her mother was very beautiful and very wealthy, and had recently married a handsome but penniless musician. Her first marriage had been to satisfy her parents, she claimed, while her second was solely for love. Marie’s step-papa was a charming and charismatic man, and he had been the one to encourage his stepdaughter’s musical talents. The whole family comes to the events to cheer her on, Ed has heard, and they are universally well-liked.

 **Merida** , 16, was the only other redhead, with a fiery temper and terrifying talent for shooting things. Like Marie, she had a happy, loving family to support her, with both parents and a trio of little brothers cheering her on from the stands. Her mother fussed over her hair constantly, futilely trying to tame the wild curls. Her father was a cheerfully boisterous man who was clearly proud of his daughter, even if he had a hard time sitting still at the various events. And he did bring up his wooden leg regularly, telling the story of a bear attack over and over to anyone who would listen.

 **Tiana** , 19, was a tall, slender black girl with warm brown eyes and dreams of opening her own restaurant one day. She wanted the scholarship money to pay for culinary school, although according to the girls who had done pageants with her before, she hardly needed the formal training. She was already quite an accomplished cook and baker. Tiana had traveled with her rather loud and giggly best friend, chaperoned by the friend’s father, as her own mother had fallen ill just before the start of the pageant. She was planning to join them before the final rounds. 

And finally there was **Wendy** , 15, a blue-eyed brunette. As with Agnes, no one seemed to know her very well. “She’s very ladylike,” Merida had said, with her nose scrunched up in the way it did when she disliked something but was trying to be polite. Wendy had two younger brothers as well as both parents still living, but none of them came around often. She was accompanied to the pageants by a stern-faced older woman she referred to only as Nana, and she was indeed very quiet and proper and mature for her age. “Maybe we should have invited her, after all,” kind-hearted Ariel had said. “She seems like she could use a bit of fun in her life. She acts far too grown-up!”

Ed was still a little surprised that all the girls were so friendly to each other. When he timidly mentioned this to Merida, she just shrugged and said: “Just because we compete against each other doesn’t mean we can’t be friends. It’s a pageant, not a fight to the death!”

* * *

 

Juliet nodded to herself as she read through Ed’s observations, noting: “You’re very good at this, Ed.”

He shrugged.

“I barely even had to say anything after the first couple of minutes,” he admitted. Juliet snickered.

“Well, we already had our eyes on Ariel and Jasmine,” she said. “What with their fathers being such prominent figures in the business arena. But I don’t see anything yet that would make the other girls targets…we’ll start looking into some of these estranged family members you’ve mentioned; maybe this jilted suitor of Isabelle’s. Wouldn’t be the first time a stalker threatened a woman’s life and livelihood, after all,” she mused. “Tiana’s the aspiring chef? She came with the La Bouffs, right?”

“Yeah, I think that was the name. Have you heard of them? The dad seems like a bigwig type.”

“Old money,” Juliet agreed. “Something to do with tobacco, I think it was. I’ll do some digging into him and his kid, too.”

“Lottie’s not part of the pageant, though,” Ed frowned.

“Might not matter,” Juliet said. “According to the research we’ve already done, she and Tiana have been tight since childhood. If someone were looking to get to the La Bouffs, they’d have to know that wherever Tiana goes, Charlotte is sure to follow.”

“But in that case, why a bomb threat?” Al asked. “Wouldn’t kidnapping make more sense?”

“Sure, but they could have been trying to keep them from traveling here, in order to get to one of the girls more easily,” Juliet mused. “Maybe the increased security here was the obstacle – the contestants are constantly surrounded by people, and that was without the added police presence they added after the threats.”

“Still seems like an overly complicated plan if kidnap was the end goal,” Ed said, frowning.

“Yes, which is why she’s not at the top of my list,” Juliet sighed. “Still, I’ll have someone check into it, just to be safe.”

“What about this Bianca?” Al asked, leaning over his brother’s shoulder to read the notes. “Could she or her cousin have called in false threats in order to drive up the prize money?”

“But how would they have known that Mr. Chanterelle would react that way?” Ed argued. “Any sane person would have cancelled or postponed the pageant in the face of threats. Who could have possibly predicted that this blowhard would double and then _triple_ the prize money?”

“Right?” Juliet said. “He’s nuts. Well, this gives us another dozen leads to follow, anyway. Good job, Ed. Now get some rest; you’ve got a long day ahead of you tomorrow.”

 


	4. Chapter 4

_Undercover /ˌəndərˈkəvər / adjective - (of a person or their activities) working secretly within a community or organization, especially for the purposes of police investigation; engaged in securing confidential information under a false appearance._

 

* * *

In the end, the girls mostly saved themselves. Ed’s presence just…hurried things along a little.

The evening gown portion of the competition went off without a hitch. All of the girls (and Ed) looked gorgeous in their long dresses, and no one so much as stumbled at any point of the procession. Once each girl walked the short runway solo and did her little turn before the judges, they all lined up again and proceeded backstage to clear the platform for the talent performances.

Backstage was all carefully-contained chaos, with the girls and a fair few chaperones running back and forth between the dressing rooms and the waiting area looking for stockings and hairpins and touching up makeup and grabbing props and instruments and costumes.

“There you are! Thank god; can I borrow your lipstick? I can’t find mine anywhere and Sierra has disappeared and I’m up next, and…”

“Hold still, dearie, we have to fix this tear in your skirt! Just a moment, now…”

“Momma! Momma! Where’s my pink bow?”

“You look _gorgeous_ , sugar; you’re gonna do just fine out there! Deep breath, now…”

“Don’t fuss, darling, we’re almost done…there we are! Much better…”

Ed had the second to last time slot, just before Isabelle, so rather than rush to change out of his long red gown, he took the opportunity to observe the dizzying activity, wondering whether the culprit was somewhere among them.

One of Juliet’s people, who had been assigned as Ed’s hairdresser, hustled over to him and pretended to fuss with his shiny golden curls. Leaning close, she whispered that Juliet and her partner had had to leave in a hurry – there had been yet _another_ threat made this afternoon.

Ed nodded to show he understood, even as a trickle of unease crept up his spine. He was frustrated to be stuck here while the real action was going down elsewhere, sure, but there was something else…something prickling at his subconscious…

Isabelle’s sunflower-yellow gown caught Ed’s eye, and he idly watched her cross the room. She was walking with a man he hadn’t seen before, who held her by the wrist, and Ed realized suddenly that they were arguing in low voices. No one else appeared to have noticed, preoccupied with their own preparations.

Except for gentle, sweet Bianca, who stiffened as they passed her. She hesitated, and then visibly steeled herself to approach the couple, just as Isabelle planted her feet and refused to take another step.

“Isabelle? Is…is everything all right?” Bianca asked, eyes glued to the crushing grip of the man’s hand around Isabelle’s wrist.

“I-it’s nothing, Bianca, you should –oh!” Isabelle flinched and tried to pull her arm away. “Foster, let GO; I said I’m not leaving with you!”

Her cry drew the attention of several of the others backstage, and Ed carefully kicked off his heels in anticipation of a fight.

“Enough!” the man, Foster, snarled. “I have been more than patient! I have watched you parade yourself around like a painted whore, showing off for all those disgusting old men. I’ve seen how they look at you; how they undress you with their eyes,” he hissed. Isabelle whimpered as he tightened his grip and yanked her closer.

“What?” she gasped. “What are you—?”

“It’s always the same, wherever you go, you little slut,” he growled. “I warned you! I told you not to come here!  And I told them I’d blow this place sky-high if the pageant went on, but they wouldn’t listen! I was just trying to keep my fiancée from making a spectacle of herself in front of everyone, but you still _insisted_ – well, I’ve had enough of this! You are MINE!”

“No, I’m NOT,” Isabelle managed, struggling in earnest now. “And for the last time: I am not your fiancée!”

“Wait, _you_ were the one calling in bomb threats?” Ed asked, incredulous. Juliet had been right about the stalker after all, then. “Was there ever even a bomb, or were you bluffing the whole time?”

“What? No!” Foster snapped. “Like I’d risk blowing myself up? Stupid little bitch!”

“That’s exactly what I was hoping you’d say,” Ed said with a slow grin. Eyes flicking between Isabelle and her assailant, he watched for an opening. He just needed to wait until the man shifted his weight, just so, and then—

And then Bianca lost her head and threw herself between Edie and the other pair.

“Let her go, you-you brute!” Bianca cried, balling her fists at her sides. She was clearly terrified, but she stood firm as Foster turned on her, sneering.

“Or what? Are _you_ going to stop me, little girl?” he mocked.

“Yes, she is. And so are we,” Magnolia said coolly. Beside her, Merida (who was supposed to be up next) drew one of her arrows from her quiver and took careful aim. Behind them both, Shang moved to block the exit with folded arms and a formidable glare. The commotion had drawn everyone’s attention, now, and people were streaming out of the dressing rooms to join the small crowd forming all around them.

Had Ed not been involved at all, they’d have handled things just fine on their own. Of this fact he had no doubt. But then Foster wrapped one burly arm around Isabelle’s neck, and drew a wicked looking knife with this other hand, and started shouting something about how if he couldn’t have her, then no one else could either.

And Ed had seen enough.

“Everyone, stay back!” he yelled. “This creep is mine!”

He dropped to one knee, ignoring the sound of tearing fabric as he clapped his hands together and slammed both palms on the floor. The crackle of alchemic reaction raced along the ground between them, but before Foster could do more than yell, the ground beneath their feet rippled and bucked.

Off balance, Foster released his hold on Isabelle, who stumbled and fell to her hands and knees, gasping for breath. The second she was clear, a giant hand manifested from the stone floor and wrapped itself around Foster, pinning his arms to his sides while he writhed and kicked and yelled in vain.

For a beat, the entire room was silent save for Foster’s ineffectual struggling.

“Oh,” Jasmine said suddenly.  She was staring at Ed, eyes wide. “ _Oh_.”

It broke the spell. Suddenly everyone was talking at once. The few parents and chaperones who had been backstage rushed to check on their various charges. Ella darted forward to help Isabelle to her feet, and Aurora quietly comforted a trembling Bianca. Magnolia sidled up behind the still raving Foster and whispered something that made the other man freeze and fall silent.

Merida writhed free from her mother’s terrified embrace and launched herself at Ed.

“I thought you said you weren’t any good at alchemy, Edie!” she cried, crushing him in a fierce hug.

“I’m sorry, I lied,” Ed confessed, dropping the feminine lilt he’d been using up until then. Merida startled and pulled back. “Also, I’m not really Edie,” he said. Those close enough to hear him fell silent at his words, so that nearly the whole crowd heard his next confession. “My name is Ed. Edward Elric. And I’m-I’m, uh, not actually a girl.”

“Oh my god, not AGAIN,” Shang choked out. Magnolia broke down into slightly hysterical giggles. Ed turned towards them with a raised eyebrow, but that would have to be a story for another time.

“Wait a minute!” Charlotte La Bouff interrupted loudly. “Edward _Elric_? You’re the Fullmetal Alchemist!”

“Well, obviously,” Jasmine huffed.

“The what now?” Tiana asked weakly, glancing between them.

“Oh _you_ know, Tiana sugar, that genius wunderkind prodigy who made State Alchemist when he was only twelve,” Charlotte said brightly. “There was a big ol’ fuss about it in all the papers at the time, remember I said to you what a cute little thing he was? I’ve gotta say, baby,” she said, whirling on Ed. “You are really rocking that eyeliner. Poor darling, you’ve had to wear a padded bra and everything this whole entire time, haven’t you? And that’s your natural hair, right, not a wig? What _conditioner_ do you use?”

“Lottie, oh my god,” Tiana wheezed, bent double with laughter.

Merida’s mother had a hand over her mouth. Her eyes were wide and scandalized.

“The automail…oh, how did I _miss_ that?” she whispered. Merida rolled her eyes.

“Relax, mother, it’s not like he was even in the dressing rooms with any of us! So he’s a boy, what’s the big deal?” In spite of her defiant words, there was a tremor in her voice.

“Oh, Merida, that’s not what I’m upset about,” Eleanor sighed.

“Edie- I mean, um, Edward,” Isabelle said shakily. Ed turned slowly to face her. She was still sitting on the ground, wrapped in Ella’s protective embrace. Ella was looking up at him, too, with an unreadable expression on her pretty face. “Or Ed, or whatever your name really is,” Isabelle went on. “I just–I want to thank you. For saving me.”

Ed rubbed the back of his neck, awkward in the face of her genuine appreciation.

“This is the guy you were talking about before, right?” he asked, gesturing at Foster. “The one who wouldn’t leave you alone?” Isabelle nodded. “You won’t have to worry about him anymore,” Ed promised. “Those bomb threats got the MPs involved, you know, and they don’t mess around with that sort of thing.” He offered her a cocky grin, relieved when she gave him a tiny smile in return.

“Suddenly I understand why Roy always complains about you, Ed,” Juliet spoke up from behind him.

“Major!” he cried, whirling. “About _time_ you guys showed up!”

“We’ve actually been here for a while now, kid,” she explained, waving a hand around the room. Ed realized that the place was flooded with Investigations officers, taking statements and herding panicked civilians and staring at Ed’s improvised restraints with varying degrees of perplexity. “We made it back just in time to catch your little act of vandalism and property destruction, there.”

“I’ll put it back,” he pouted. Juliet just laughed at him.

“I’m only teasing you, Ed. You did great,” she said softly.

“Excuse me, Major, was it?” Merida’s mother interrupted them. Juliet turned to her with some surprise.

“Uh, yes ma’am? Major Juliet O’Hara; what can I do for you?” Juliet asked.

“ _Major Juliet O’Hara_ , am I correct in assuming that this child was acting as an undercover operative for Military Investigations?” Eleanor demanded. Juliet and Ed exchanged bewildered glances. Eleanor drew herself up to her full height. “Just what is the meaning of involving a teenage girl - pardon me, a teenage _boy-_ in such a serious and dangerous investigation? He could have been injured!” she cried.

“Look, no one is more aware of that fact than I am, ma’am,” Juliet tried, placating.

“I don’t want to hear your excuses! Now you listen here, young lady!”

Ed felt something pluck at his sleeve.

“She’ll probably be at this for a while,” Merida whispered. “If you want to avoid getting caught in the crossfire, now’s your chance to make a break for it.”

“Thanks,” Ed grinned at her, and then sobered abruptly. “Look, I really am sorry for lying to you; it’s just—”

Merida held up a hand to stop him.

“It’s your job; I get it. I mean, I’m pissed that you lied to everyone, but I get why you had to. Also, what the hell?! You’ve been a guy this whole time?!” Merida punched his arm, hard, and Ed winced. “Oh my god, and we were all gushing about boys and makeup and being super embarrassing—you know what, you’d better go before I change my mind about forgiving you!” she cried, covering her face with her hands.

Ed glanced around, but most of the other contestants had been swept away by their chaperones and families by now.

“Listen, Merida? If you see Bianca, will you tell her thanks from me? If it wasn’t for her, no one would have even noticed what was going on until it was too late to help Isabelle. It was stupid, but very brave of her to stand up to that guy. Also, I really hope I get to see her name up in lights someday.”

“Yeah, sure, I’ll tell her,” Merida said. She was still flushed with embarrassment, but smiling a little too.

Ed flashed her another grin and jogged over to the stone hand, where his captive was still held firm. It was only after he’d released the man into the custody of the MPs (and smoothed the stone back into the ground from whence it came) that Ed remembered he was still wearing his red evening gown. And a lot of makeup. And that several of the MPs carried cameras to photograph evidence. And that some of them probably knew Mustang.

He’d never moved faster in his life.

* * *

 

After all was said and done, after filling out a staggering number of after action reports and sitting through endless meetings and answering dozens of inane questions, Ed thought he’d gotten away with it. Until he was standing in Mustang’s office, saying his farewells to Major O’Hara, with one foot literally out the door, and Mustang calmly asked him to wait a moment.

“Before you go, I wanted to offer my congratulations….Miss Congeniality,” the colonel smirked. He held up a small framed photograph, of Ed in his pretty red dress with his hair all done up in curls, makeup expertly applied, and a slightly manic smile pasted on his face.

He looked _gorgeous_.

The color drained from Ed’s face.

“What? How-?” he gasped. Mustang, the bastard, just chuckled.

“They sent it over by courier, along with a sash, a small cash prize, and an honest-to-god tiara,” he said, pointing at a small box on the corner of his desk.

“I—what?” Ed said, stupidly.

“Apparently, the title of Miss Congeniality is an award given to the friendliest, most amiable contestant, as determined by an actual vote among the contestants once the pageant is through,” Mustang explained, holding up the little placard that had come with the framed photo.

“I…but…you mean they—?” Ed stammered.

“I know; it’s like they’ve never even met you, isn’t it?” Mustang snarked. Ed scowled at him. “I think they meant it as a thank you, Fullmetal. Apparently there was one determined little redhead in particular who insisted that the pageant officials get this to you. Normally the contestant has to still actually be _in_ the pageant, you see, but she and her mother were…persuasive. And the other contestants were quick to back them up.”

Ed stood frozen, equally horrified and touched by the gesture.

“It’s all here,” Mustang said, dropping the photo back into the box as though suddenly bored of the whole thing. “That was it; you’re dismissed. Now get out of my office.”

“Whatever,” Ed grumbled, snatching the box off the desk with another scowl for his superior officer. “I’m going to go donate this stupid cash prize to some random charity and pretend none of this ever happened. Bye, Major,” he added with a slightly less disgruntled frown for Juliet.

She managed to hold in the giggle until after the door had closed behind him.

“Aw, Roy, now he’s just gonna destroy the picture!” she said sadly. She never _had_ managed to get a good shot of Ed all gussied up (although she had a few of him in his more casual get-ups.) And he’d made for a really cute girl.

“It’s like you think I gave him the only copy,” Mustang replied dryly.

“You didn’t- you made copies?” she cried, delighted.

“Of course I did,” he scoffed. “Who do you think you’re dealing with, here?”

“Oh Roy, you aren’t going to torture him with this, are you? You tease him too much,” she chided. “He’d probably look up to you if you didn’t mess with him all the time.”

“Please, I know exactly what I’m doing,” Mustang lied. “I’m not a monster; I’m not going to send them to his girlfriend or anything. They’re purely for entertainment and blackmail purposes.”

“Fair enough,” Juliet conceded, grinning. “It IS the Mustang way, after all. I hope you saved one for me!”

**Author's Note:**

> Notes on names:  
> Agnes is Esmeralda's birth name in the book "The Hunchback of Notre Dame," and the nickname comes from a fake green jewel that she wears. (And btw, never read that book unless you really like brutally tragic endings - it is nothing like the Disney-fied version. Which shouldn't really come as a surprise, but fair warning anyway!)  
> Mulan apparently translates to 'magnolia' from the Chinese, and the family name Hua translates as 'flower' (at least according to Wikipedia, so grain of salt and all that).  
> I chose to use Foster in place of Gaston (which was just too blatantly obvious for me), because it's a derivation of the same Germanic root word (vast), which means 'stranger.'  
> Everyone else should be fairly straightforward, but feel free to comment with your questions and I will do my best to answer them :)


End file.
